


I'll Make a Cup of Coffee (For Your Head)

by apatheticpluto



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Office, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:34:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27008164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apatheticpluto/pseuds/apatheticpluto
Summary: In which Loki is a disgruntled journalist and Thor is the annoyingly chipper barista. A case of mistaken feelings and a jealous streak that runs deeper than Loki would like to admit leads them to fall mostly apart and then back together.If Thor wasn’t so…Thor, Loki would have been nothing short of appalled at the writing on the side of the cup — bold, almost childish words scrawled in big black letters. There was a smudge of sharpie across Thor’s fingers, black ink smeared to the knuckle and it had become such a familiar sight that Loki ached with it. Ached beneath the weight of all his want.
Relationships: Loki/Thor (Marvel)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 75
Collections: Thorki Baby Bang 2020





	I'll Make a Cup of Coffee (For Your Head)

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been in the making for Months now and I feel so happy to finally post it! Thank you so, so much to my betas, luneofmeadow whose work you can find [here!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luneofmeadow) and starkissed1 whose work is posted [here!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starkissed1/pseuds/Starkissed1), for looking this over and putting up with my rambling!
> 
> Also a Masisve thank you to Moopz for the wondeful, incredible, art they drew! Their post is linked [here](https://twitter.com/moopzies/status/1316411838335266821?s=20)! It's stunning.

“And that,” Darcy said, dropping a newspaper onto his desk, "is why we don't hire interns." 

Loki could have sworn he had locked his office door this morning and he knew for a fact he had never given Darcy a key. He'd sooner give one to Stark than to her. Gods know she’d manage to burn his office down in a minute — two, if she was having an off-day. But he had long since abandoned his efforts trying to teach her the concept of knocking. 

Or privacy.

“I assume you're exempt from that statement?" he sighed, skimming idly through the article. 

**STARK EMPLOYEE LEAKS INFORMATION TO RIVAL COMPANY.**

Wonderful. And to think his day had been going so well. 

With any luck Stark would still be out of office. Or town. Hell, for all Loki knew he was still in Milan. He never had been organised enough to leave dates of his international meetings, and with Pepper on personal leave Loki’s guess to his whereabouts was as good as anyone’s. 

Wherever he was, hopefully the news hadn’t reached him. Maybe they could pull the sources before it ever did. It was doubtful, and near impossible, but nobody had ever accused Stark Papers of doing anything the easy way. Least of all where Stark himself was involved.

"Obviously,” Darcy drawled, scowling. “I’m the best thing that ever happened to this company.” 

Loki would have laughed if he possessed the energy. She’d only been hired a few months ago as part of the intern program and had since taken it upon herself to make various aspects of his personal life a living hell. It was endearing as much as it was infuriating. If she wasn’t a somewhat competent assistant, Loki would have fired her as soon as Stark allowed it.  _ If _ Stark ever allowed it. The scheme had been his idea after all; drafted up over weeks of work and late-night office hours. He’d almost cried when Pepper had tried to scrap it. 

Now it was almost unfathomable that the program wouldn’t be shut down — not after being partially responsible for the first and only internal leak at Stark Papers. If the prospect of the fallout wasn’t such a headache, it would almost be amusing how quickly it had fallen apart. 

Unsurprising, though too. You couldn’t go ten minutes in most conversations without overhearing Stark’s name; old money, family heritage, and a rivalry with Hammer that stretched back generations. Why Stark had thought that running a  _ newspaper _ company would aid all that was beyond him. Especially when Hammer was already established long before they were. 

Still, Stark was nothing if not petty.

“So, what are you gonna do about it?” Darcy asked, perching on the edge of his desk. The wood creaked under her weight. Loki considered pushing her off.

“What am  _ I _ going to do about it?”

“That’s what I said. Huh, I guess old people really do lose their hearing.”

“I won’t hesitate to fire you, Miss Lewis.”

“Oh, of course,” she agreed, smiling as Loki dragged a hand across his brow. “But you always did have a soft spot for troublemakers. In fact, I happen to have some certain…papers that prove you’re not as high and mighty as people think. Boss,” she added.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing major. Just, you know, a few old police records. And honestly they’re probably incorrect anyway. I mean, a bunch of them are falsified nowadays, right? Police corruption and all that. I know a guy down at the station who could look into them if you’re curious—“

“What do you want, Darcy?” Loki gritted out and she grinned, the expression too big for her face; all teeth and glittering amusement.

“A coffee.”

“A coffee?” He repeated, incredulous. “You’re blackmailing me for a  _ coffee? _ ”

“Blackmail really is such a strong word. I like to think of it as ‘gently encouraging.’” He pushed her off the desk with the heel of his hand.

“Well, if you keep this particular attitude up I’ll have to ‘gently encourage’ Stark into letting you go. And wouldn’t that be such a shame?” He drawled, catching the pencil she threw in his direction.

“And anyway,” he continued, shoving the newspaper to the side of his desk and flipping idly through a stack of files, “why can’t you get yourself a coffee? You are aware of the existence of a machine right down the hall, yes?”

“Machine coffee?” She asked, indignant. “You want me to drink machine coffee?”

“ _ I _ don’t care what you drink, Miss Lewis.”

“Yeah well, this is your fault.”

“Oh?”

“You and that damned coffee shop down the street. Ruined me for anything else. Ruined me, boss.” Loki paused, thumb hovering over the corner of a page, paper crinkling beneath his fingers. 

Waiting. 

“Still, I’m sure it’s a strictly professional interest. Totally has nothing to do with the big, hunky blonde—“

And there it was. 

“I hate you.” 

Darcy laughed, taking the stack of files from his hand and looking through them half-heartedly. She’d get the work finished — she wasn’t completely incompetent. And he supposed he really could use a coffee.

“Fine,” he relented, “but only because I would very much like to be far, far away when the news reaches Stark.”

“You’ve got my order, right?”

“Yes, Darcy,” he replied. “But perhaps if you spent a little less on coffee you wouldn’t have to plead with me every week for a raise.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault I have impeccable taste.” 

“Of course not.” Loki spared a glance at the lingering clouds outside the window before grabbing his coat from over the chair. “Please try not to burn down my office while I’m gone.”

“No promises. And get his number!” She called as he walked out and really. Honestly, he was not getting paid enough to deal with all this shit before noon. 

\--

_ Asgard’s Coffee House _ was strikingly unremarkable. It might have been part of something larger, once — set back from the rest of the street as it was — and Loki had, in truth, almost walked straight past it the first time. But something had given him pause. The smell maybe; the soft aroma that only came from proper coffee, brewed and served freshly in-house. Or perhaps it was the sign, handwritten and proudly boasting the best coffee in all the nine realms. Well, Loki would be a very bad journalist indeed if he didn’t investigate that particular claim.

So he’d entered. It hadn’t hurt matters that the very first thing he had been greeted with was the man behind he counter. He wasn’t one for poetics but it wasn’t unwarranted to liken the man’s physique to something bordering on statuesque. He was so blinding in all his radiance that Loki had a hard time focusing on anything that wasn’t soft, blonde hair and electric blue eyes. He must have read the same menu thrice before he gave up and ordered something from memory. 

If the coffee hadn’t been so good — that actual,  _ real _ coffee that Loki had only found at a handful of shops — he may have never returned. Or at least certainly not as often as he had, the beauty of the man be damned. But Thor — and wasn’t that a giant fucking cosmic joke in itself — had an annoying habit of systematically breaking down whatever walls he constructed with a single smile or lingering touch. It had only taken three weeks for Loki to realise that he was running out of ways to reconstruct the same damn defence from the remnants of crumbled bricks and plaster.

Still, he wasn’t blind, or deaf. There had been plenty of talk about Thor and Loki couldn’t avoid it even if he wanted to. Thor wasn’t short of suitors, whether they were wanted or not, and Loki couldn’t hope to hold a candle to the ones who threw themselves at Thor’s feet. Even if their behaviour was…distasteful.

Besides, if his charming personality didn’t scare him off, Darcy most certainly would. Or Stark. Heaven forbid Thor ever met his boss. 

He had, until today, thought his weekly trips inconspicuous. But he hadn’t planned for a certain overly-invested intern to follow him. In truth, he had no idea how she had found out about this. Whatever this was. He was half-tempted to check his coat for bugs. 

So, no. It didn’t matter if the rhythm in his chest stuttered when Thor caught his eye, mouth stretching lazily into a wide smile. Thor was being friendly. It was his job to be charming. It didn’t mean anything. No matter how much he wanted it to. 

"Tough morning?” Thor asked, reaching for a cup. Loki regarded him grimly, lips pressed together into a thin line. 

“You haven’t seen the paper?” 

“Stark’s?”

“No, we haven’t broken the story yet. Not much point seeing as Hammer somehow got there first.”

“That bad, huh?” Thor asked sympathetically and Loki smiled dryly.

“Worse. Do yourself a favour and don’t hire interns.”

Thor laughed, booming, and Loki’s chest warmed. He cursed the sound. “I’ll be sure to pass that on to Steve.” 

If Thor wasn’t so… _ Thor _ , Loki would have been nothing short of appalled at the writing on the side of the cup — bold, almost childish words scrawled in big black letters. There was a smudge of sharpie across Thor’s fingers, black ink smeared to the knuckle and it had become such a familiar sight that Loki ached with it. Ached beneath the weight of all his want.

“I’ll take two coffees today actually, thank you.” He had been so caught in watching the way Thor’s tongue ran across his lip as he wrote that he’d almost forgotten about Darcy’s drink entirely. 

Thor raised a brow.

“Wow. Guess it really is that bad.”

“Regrettably they’re not both for me. It appears I’ve been blackmailed by my own intern.”

“Blackmailed?” 

“Word of advice: if somebody puts ‘curious’ on their resume, do not hire them.”

Thor bit his lip to stifle a smile and Loki followed the motion. Watched it flush red under the pressure of his teeth. He wondered if it would look the same with his teeth biting at it, spit-slick from a kiss and— 

“Well, regardless, I’m obligated to thank her for her business. Steve’s orders.” 

“You haven’t heard her order yet,” Loki teased, and Thor’s eyes crinkled.

“Trust me. I guarantee we’ve had worse.”

“And if you haven’t?”

Thor held his gaze, earnestly amused.

“I’ll pay for your coffee.”

Oh. Was that—? Thor’s eyes held steady and firm on Loki’s face, no trace of teasing beyond that same gentle mirth from before and a sincerity that bordered on painful. There was no way he was insinuating— Surely not in the way Loki thought he was. This didn’t happen to him. Not the open stares and gentle touches, and the look of something so gentle that it made his skin prickle. 

“Is that so?” Loki asked. “Well, then. I suppose there’s no point in getting out my wallet. Large caramel macchiato, skim milk with a splash of whole, sugar free but extra shots, extra-hot, vegan-whip on the side.” Thor’s smile dropped incrementally. Loki huffed a laugh at the sight, chest warming. 

He hadn’t realised just how loud the sound would be in the quiet, still morning and Thor’s hand stopped, eyes snapping up to meet Loki’s, face still in the light, twisted into an expression caught somewhere between shock and awe. It was all Loki could do to not squirm under Thor’s gaze, to hold his body still, deny the heat under his skin.

“Is there a problem?” Loki asked. Thor smiled and shook his head, a strand of hair slipping from the loose bun it was held in. Loki swallowed and followed it as it settled against the line of Thor’s jaw, brushed the smooth, tanned column of his neck. 

“No, no. It’s just— you should laugh more. It is a nice sound.” 

Loki stared at him. Felt the familiar warmth of a blush trailing across his cheeks before he righted himself. Ripped his gaze away from infuriatingly blonde hair and soft, tender eyes. His own hands were a safer bet — knuckles white from the grip on the counter and if he tried, focused enough, he could almost count the flecks in the granite.

“Yes, well, today doesn’t seem to be a day for laughter.”

When he risked glancing up in the lingering silence Thor’s brow was pinched in thought. For a moment Loki worried he was going to say something else, utter words he couldn’t take back. His heart jumped at the thought, an anxiety he couldn’t place spreading across his chest, trailing a blazing warmth in its wake; feverish and burning. A second later Thor’s face smoothed, the same affectionate smile from before settling back across his mouth.

“Well, at any rate, I’m very glad I’m only taking the orders today.” 

There was safety in humour — in the gentle amusement that they shared. Away from startlingly open looks and such honesty that Loki’s stomach squirmed. His knuckles released their grip on the counter in increments, relaxing until his fingers folded into each other.

“I’ll be sure to send a company-issued apology to Clint.”

Loki had only ever met Clint in passing, shared a few polite words about the weather when Thor wasn’t on duty — although it hadn’t taken long for Loki to work out what days Thor did and didn’t work. And if he only stopped by on days when Thor was sure to be there, well. He didn’t think even Darcy was tenacious enough to figure that one out. He hoped, anyway.

But Clint was good friends with Thor, and Loki had learned that Thor tended to be a very good judge of character. He had watched, settled into the back corner of the shop during lazy afternoons, how Thor handled the customers; the patient, worn smiles at particularly troublesome patrons. Still, he never snapped; never let the annoyance manifest in anything past a small twitch of his eye. 

Loki had come to respect him for that — that calm, quiet patience in the face of frustration. Even if Thor was damn near overbearing in all his confidence it was never to the point of arrogance. It could have been — quite easily — but there was a willingness present in Thor — something so genuinely ready to both listen and help that softened any hint of hubris that may have been present.

But Loki still hadn’t quite worked out where exactly he fit into any of it. While there had been many words used to describe him, he could think of none that encompassed both his harsh edges and Thor’s gentle warmth. But, perhaps that didn’t matter. Or at least not to Thor. Perhaps this was finally something that Loki could have, could tentatively claim as his own.

“Allow me to pay for that one,” Loki said, reaching for his wallet with a nod to Darcy’s order. “It’s the least I can do.” 

“As long as I can still pay for yours.” 

The implications weren’t lost on him. Thor was flirting. Flirting with  _ him _ . If not in words, then certainly in the subtle flutter of his lashes, the movement of his eyes tracing the curve of Loki’s lips or the bend of his fingers at the knuckle.

Gods, Thor was beautiful. Loki had known that since that very first morning — bleary eyed and aching with something that he knew he could never have. Could never be  _ worthy _ of. But that was hard to remember when Thor’s gaze was resting so intently on his face, so openly sincere and  _ hopeful _ .

“If you insist.” The words were stilted, catching on the jagged edges of his throat, the knot in his sternum. Thor didn’t notice, just smiled in that soft, gentle way and took the money from Loki’s fingers, his hand a lingering warmth.

For a moment — a brief, unhinged second — Loki considered taking Thor’s hand properly, winding his fingers between Thor’s larger ones. Wondered how his palm would feel against his own, warm and broad, fantasised how the touch would feel startlingly like something akin to  _ safety _ .

Then Clint cursed, loud and jarring and the moment melted, shattered back into light and sound. Thor’s smile became sharper, lost the soft edge of amusement and spread into a more defined joy.

Loki’s breath caught as Thor leaned in to whisper, “He likes muffins.” And just as suddenly as it had come, the warmth from Thor’s hand was gone, replaced by an emptiness that bordered on painful.

Clint shot them a look, unamused and withering. “You could send me a whole damn factory and it still wouldn’t be enough. Who even orders this shit sugar-free? It’s a caramel macchiato! Sugar is like, half the fucking drink.”

Loki offered him a sympathetic smile, busied himself with slipping his wallet back into his pocket and hid his stilted breath behind a cough. “You grow used to her…idiosyncrasies after a while, believe me.” 

As if summoned by the mere mention of her, Loki’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He didn’t need to check it to know it was Darcy. He’d recognise the pattern of her texting anywhere — the irritatingly short messages sent one after another. He could ignore it, or even turn the damn-thing off, and really, it was a testament to Thor’s presence that Loki had, briefly, managed to forget about the chaos waiting for him back at the office.

Still, he had a job to do. He flashed Thor and apologetic smile.

_ Darcy: Have you got my coffee yet?? _

_ Darcy: Because I really need it. Stark’s going apeshit. _

_ Darcy: I mean I don’t blame him but Jesus. _

_ Darcy: I’m just an intern! _

There was no small amount of irony in her statement, but Loki lacked the energy to point it out. Even so, a small vindictive part of himself urged him to remind her that Stark had even more reason to not trust her. Even if it was a coincidence (which he sorely doubted — nothing ever was when Hammer was involved), it was still an intern that was responsible for the leak. 

She answered on the first ring.

“You do realise that your penchant for texting only slows me down, yes?”

“Nah, it's fine. You were only talking to your boyfriend.”

He should refute the statement. He went to, got as far as opening his mouth, laying out the words neatly along his tongue. But then Thor laughed at something Clint said, his head thrown back, and Loki promptly forgot how words worked. When Thor’s joy had faded to a lingering grin Loki blinked once, twice, and forced his lips to move.

“He’s not my boyfriend.” The shop was quiet and he adjusted his tone accordingly, hoped it would blend in with the background hum of machinery and the distant drone of cars. Darcy’s smile was all but audible down the line.

“Yeah, because you didn’t just zone out for a moment there. Look, do me a favour and fuck him at least.”

It was a small mercy that Clint switched on the coffee grinder at the same time Loki choked on his breath. It did little to mask the flush trailing his neck, though. He tugged at his collar, loosened the knot of his tie.

“I am not—“ He started, voice high enough to be heard distantly over the noise and Thor turned to him, bright and questioning before dropping to follow the movements of Loki’s fingers, still hooked firmly onto his collar. When they found his again they were darker, glinting in a way that did nothing to abate the heat trailing across Loki’s skin. “I am not having this conversation with you, Darcy. Need I remind you that I am your boss?”

“Come on!” She whined and Loki weighed the merits of ending the call there and then. “We all know you’d be a hell of a lot less grouchy if you actually got laid once in a while.”

“Goodbye, Darcy—“

“Wait! Mr. Stark wants to see you. Says it’s urgent. No prizes for guessing what it’s about.”

Well, fuck. The mention of his boss dulled how Thor’s gaze felt considerably, and Loki mourned the heat, only an echo of warmth remaining now his mind was elsewhere. He was going to need more coffee—much, much more coffee. Irish, preferably.

“Just— tell him I’ll be there shortly. And do not touch anything beyond the work I gave you. I’ll know,” he warned and Darcy huffed.

“God, I know. It’s creepy, dude. Like honestly, how do you do it? Is it magic or something because if it is please tell me how to—“

Loki ended the call. 

The coffee had, miraculously, finished brewing and he wasn’t above thanking the gods for small mercies.

“Double shot espresso,” Thor said and pushed the cup towards Loki’s hand. Calm and collected and like he hadn’t spent the last minute and a half staring at the exposed skin of Loki’s neck. Loki cursed, not for the first time, the foot his day had started off on. If Stark’s wrath wouldn’t be so monumental Loki would stay longer, see how far he could push Thor until he snapped, splintered down the middle under the nameless thing growing between them; like ivy growing up a crumbling building.

“Thank you.”

“Was that the notorious intern?” Thor teased and Loki laughed, quiet in the relative silence. He didn’t want Clint overhearing a sound that was meant only for Thor.

“Darcy seems to have…impeccable timing,” Loki replied, sardonic, and Thor beamed, resting folded arms on the counter.

“Bad news, I take it?”

“Is a meeting with your superior ever good?”

“Hey,” Thor started, soft and reassuring. Unbidden, Loki’s chest fluttered. “It’ll be fine. Steve knows Stark and says—“

Clint coughed, snapping a lid on top of Darcy’s drink. “Yeah, Steve knows him alright. Don’t think anybody in our entire apartment complex isn’t aware of that…arrangement.”

Huh, Stark and Rogers? Now, that  _ was _ interesting. 

“And sorry, but did you say Darcy?” Clint asked. “As in Darcy  _ Lewis _ , yea high, dark hair, glasses, insufferable half of the time?”

Loki arched a brow at the description, smiling drily. “I assume you two are acquainted?”

“Kinda. I met her through Jane, Jane Foster? She works at your company I think, field journalist? Always getting into places she shouldn’t be.”

Loki nodded, placing a vague face to the name, brunette, delicate features. “I believe I know of her.”

“Yeah, well, we have her to thank for the whole Stark and Steve…thing.” He waved his hand dismissively, spilling some of the water from the jug he was washing up with a wince. “If Thor wasn’t head-over-heels for her then Steve never would’ve taken an interest in the company—“

“Thank you, Clint,” Thor gritted out, flushing crimson. Loki blinked, something unpleasant unfurling in his chest, heavy and slow. Thor was interested in—

Oh. That was— right. Of course. 

Well, then.

“Thank you,” he replied, “for the coffees. I really must be on my way now.”

There was a quiet, muted sort of commotion behind him — a clatter and a grunt of pain. Clint’s, it sounded like. Loki didn’t turn around. He wasn’t sure he could bear whatever look of pity might be on Thor’s face. He wasn’t sure he could ever look at Thor’s face again. Not while humiliation burned hot and bright through him. 

Because of course Thor wasn’t interested in him—not like that, not like Loki wanted him to be. He had read into it, and seen only what he had wanted to. His chest tightened, tangled itself into a mass of embarrassment and the sharp, resigned bite of jealousy. 

“Loki, wait! Please.”

Loki paused before he could think better of it, keeping his gaze firmly on the reflections in the glass, counting the blinking lights from the brake-lights of cars. For the first time since entering he noticed the lack of other patrons, the chairs holding nothing but their own weight at empty tables. He wasn’t sure if the privacy made it better or worse. It certainly did nothing to cut through the tension that had wound around his throat like a coiled snake, resting heavily on his shoulders.

“I didn’t— Clint didn’t mean— He just—“ Thor stopped and dragged a hand through his hair, frustrated. From behind him Clint rubbed a hand over his forehead, an angry red mark blooming.

“Aren’t we a little too old for games, Thor?” Loki asked, pointedly ignoring the faint burn behind his eyes, the trickle of something akin to dread in his stomach. 

Stupid. How had he been so stupid? 

He should have known better. Known that Thor’s interest was nothing but surface level — something to amuse himself with during long work hours. A pretty face Thor could look at without expecting anything more. 

The burn spread, morphed into a dull ache and Loki blinked, clenched his jaw in resigned frustration. Fine. He was fine.

“Loki, I’m not—“ 

“Please, Thor,” Loki said and swallowed hard around the truth in those words — the broken, embarrassing plea for him to not drag this out any longer than necessary. To let Loki leave and lick his wounds in peace. To put back together the shattered remnants of his pride, his expectations. “I’m not in the habit of keeping my boss waiting.”

Thor’s brow creased, teeth catching his bottom lip. Loki ached at the sight. 

“Just, come back later and let me explain? Properly, I mean.”

Loki hummed noncommittally, opening the door wide enough to step out onto the street. The clouds had darkened overhead, gathering like a bruise across the sky; hues of tentative purple spread across a swathe of grey. It was busier than it had been, people ducking into nearby shop entries as the first drops of rain fell to the pavement. 

He resisted the urge to turn and go home—to crumple the plans he had for the rest of the day and tuck them out of sight. He walked back towards the office in careful, measured steps and  tried desperately to ignore the usual smiley face Thor had drawn on his coffee cup.

\-- 

Darcy had, apparently, not been overreacting and that in itself was a rare occurrence. Even rarer was the state of chaos the offices were in. Stark had never been one for an…organised working environment but this was unheard of, even by his standards. 

On a normal day Loki could tolerate people brushing by as they rushed past. But what he couldn’t handle, however, was the fact that on three separate occasions he’d almost been hit by various thrown objects; a stack of files, a hole-puncher that had nearly achieved its purpose in his skull, and, on one very notable occasion, half of a printer that had landed just shy of his head. 

The man beside the other half wore a faintly guilty expression, eyebrows pinched as he wrung his hands. Banner, Loki recalled. A friend of Stark’s from somewhere or other. His fingers were tinged red and the printer had four distinctive indents in the plastic. Five, if you counted the one on the underside. He had apologised profusely, and said he had been conducting repairs, ‘Routine maintenance’, apparently.

It was, in all honesty, not the strangest thing Loki had encountered while working there. And really, he wondered what exactly that said about his job.

His floor wasn’t much better, but somebody had had the foresight to prop open a window — wide enough only for the chill of the wind to carry through without letting in any of the rain. It did little to help the situation, but it did alleviate the headache that had been brewing behind his temples. 

Loki had never been so thankful to have a private office, a physical barrier between silence and chaos — even if Darcy had invaded it. He rapped on the glass of his door, motioning with a coffee in each hand to be let in. Her face brightened when she saw him, smoothing into hesitant relief. “Coffee!”

“Where’s Stark?”

“Ouch, okay. Nice to see you too, boss.” 

“Darcy,” Loki warned, patience thinning.

“Fine, fine! He’s in his office, I think. Though, he’s started just standing on various floors and looking like he’s gonna cry at any moment. This is all Pepper’s fault, really. She had to take this week off, didn’t she?”

“Yes,” Loki agreed drily, “it was very inconvenient of her uncle to die during such a crisis.”

“That’s what I said!”

“Drink your coffee, Miss Lewis, and start looking for a new boss in case this all falls to shit. More so than it already has, that is.”

“I’ll remember you!”

“How comforting.”

If Stark’s office was as much of a mess as the rest of the building, then Loki had no comparisons he could draw about the man himself. Anything shy of manic would be an understatement. There was a certain wild gleam in Stark’s eyes, flitting back and forth across the screens in front of him. Loki noted the numerous coffee cups beside him with a raised brow. 

“Please tell me you’ve got ideas for damage control,” Stark said as Loki entered, not looking up from his computer. 

Loki’s own coffee was a lingering warmth in his hand, a constant reminder, and he resisted the urge to crush it. He didn’t think Stark would appreciate the mess. Still, it was tempting. Especially when the smiley face beamed up at him from between his fingers.

But then Stark looked up, haggard and  _ worn _ and all thoughts of Thor were pushed from his head. He had a job to do. There would be time for foolish infatuations later. 

“Not exactly. But, I rather think Hammer is already doing our job for us in that regard.”

“Yeah?” Stark’s tone was tentative at best, toeing too close to disbelief to be reassured, but his eyes seemed focus now — fixed.

“The article reads like a student wrote it, a high-school student—” Loki continued and Stark snorted.

“—Can’t fault you on that one.”

“—And, until we know exactly what ‘information’ was leaked, I don’t see what else we can do other than to endure and prepare for the worst. Regardless, it’s not like he had any access to confidential files, or indeed any files higher than the lowest clearance. I highly doubt he managed to leak anything beyond a few generic pieces.”

Stark smiled, wry. “I’ve already run checks across our system and, unless the kid’s suddenly gained a few dozen IQ points, he hasn’t touched any of the confidential files.” 

Loki never had asked how Stark had gotten into journalism after obtaining a degree at M.I.T. Engineering. It wasn’t a logical leap by any means. Then again, he supposed neither was his own from an accounting degree to a senior writer. But, at times like these he was unfathomably relieved that it would take no less than a small army of geniuses to break through whatever security Stark had implemented over the years.

On the desk Stark’s phone vibrated, a single staccato burst. Stark glanced at it, ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes. Loki waited, wondered if Stark deemed it important enough to share. It wouldn’t be unlike him to keep it to himself.

But then he looked back up, met Loki’s gaze and all the exhaustion that had been present before had increased tenfold. Loki almost felt sorry for him. Indeed he would have, if he wasn’t certain that Stark had, at least partially, brought this about himself. He never was one to look before he leapt, and this intern scheme wasn’t an exception.

“Pepper’s coming in tomorrow.”

Loki frowned. “I thought her Uncle’s funeral was—“

“Today, yeah. But, you know what she’s like. I’ve tried talking her out of it but she seems to think she can handle all of this,” Stark gestured to the chaos outside his office, “better than we can. Which, I mean, she’s not wrong.”

Well, at least under Pepper’s guidance Stark might actually get things accomplished. From the look in his eyes and the state of his office, Loki very much doubted that he’d achieved anything besides from further fuelling his caffeine addiction. 

“So, are we to wait?” Loki asked.

“Yep. Like you said, nothing much more we can do, not now, anyway. Just, God I don’t know. Keep our heads down. Try to reach out and contact potential sources. You have Darcy at your disposal — use her. She’s a good reporter, even if she’s a bit…” Stark trailed off, motioned vaguely in the air with his hand. “Leave the rest to me. Fixing things is kinda what I do.”

Pepper had once, in strict confidence, informed Loki that Stark’s penchant for ‘fixing things’ only extended as far as machines, that he never had managed to grasp the same level of understanding regarding humans. Loki hoped the leak was at least partially technology based, for all their sakes.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Loki said, shifting his grip on his cup. The action inadvertently drew Stark’s gaze, his eyes lingering on the logo. Loki watched the recognition dawn in his eyes with no small amount of glee and a small, festering something. He refused to name it jealousy. 

Loki smiled, a small, smug quirk of his lips. “Steve sends his regards.” 

Stark groaned and buried his face in his hands, flushing red. “I— That’s not—“ He stopped, meeting Loki’s gaze from between his fingers, “What did Clint tell you?”

“Nothing incriminating.”

“Uh huh. Because Clint is known for keeping his mouth shut.”

The conversation brought back nothing but the memory of Thor — the small, almost pitying tug of his brows, the tilt of his lips. Loki wondered if he should have stayed. Should have heard him out before he deemed it necessary to leave. No. It was better this way. Cleaner without Thor’s excuses to sully Loki’s decision. He hadn’t been lying when he had said they were too old for such games. Games that led nowhere but in circles. 

Loki would have liked that, once. That game of perpetual cat and mouse — the hunt, the chase, the line between predator and prey so blurred they had begun to overlap. Perhaps he had grown jaded with age, had his knife’s edge dulled to nothing but a blunt press, a warning more than an action. Or maybe it was just Thor that Loki didn’t wish to play these games. That he wanted only something…real, tucked away from every other aspect of his life. Kept safe and buried and protected. 

It didn’t matter. Not now, not anymore. Thor had made his decision and had, inadvertently, made Loki’s for him — left him with nothing but a smattering of ‘what ifs’ and a loneliness that echoed. Fine. He was fine. 

Loki cleared his throat and forced himself back into the present. “I know nothing, I swear it. And anyway, would I really be one to harbour secrets about my boss for my own potential benefit?”

Stark regarded him warily. “…You and Darcy deserve each other.”

Loki smiled. “Is that everything, sir?”

He sighed and motioned towards the door with a flick of his hand. “Yeah. You’re not fired. Yet.”

“Well, I’m certainly very glad about that.” 

There was a lightness in Stark’s eyes, the creases on his forehead smoothing slightly as he gathered himself, ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to flatten it back down; sighed and clumsily grouped his coffee mugs to the right side of his desk, a small circle of white porcelain. The pile of papers were next, tidied away as best he could to his drawer. From what Loki could see it was already full, nearly overflowing with…schematics? And other things he couldn’t quite make out. Figurines, maybe? But he found a way to cram the papers in there too, managed to shut the drawer. Loki was surprised it actually stayed closed, certain it was going to pop back open at any minute.

“Oh and Loki? I’ll be sure to put in a good word for you with Thor.”

The breath in Loki’s lungs stilled. He didn’t want to know how Stark knew about his…infatuation with Thor. Because that’s all it was, wasn’t it? an unrequited infatuation? He had been so foolish to believe Thor could ever return his feelings. It had landed him here, in this office, holding a coffee that was quickly growing cold and trying his damnedest to not push his fingers through the cardboard. The cup creaked in the silence and Loki wondered how much Stark liked the carpet in his office.

“That’s not necessary,” he replied, colder than he had intended. He couldn’t bring himself to apologise. “Thank you.” 

The door shut with a heavy sense of finality behind him. He didn’t need to turn back to feel Stark’s gaze heavy on his back. The last of the coffee was bitter but he finished it regardless, swallowing around the lingering taste in his throat. Only when it was emptied did he allow himself the satisfaction of crushing it and dropping it in the nearest bin.

\-- 

The week dwindled to its close. So did the one after and with each passing day, Loki was left with the unshakable impression that every damn person in the office somehow knew about his alleged crush on the barista down the road. It would have been depressing if it wasn’t so infuriating. He had no idea whether this idle gossip was a result of Stark or Darcy, or more likely a disastrous combination of them both. 

It was minor things at first. So small that he had managed to half-convince himself that he had imagined them entirely; gazes that lingered for slightly too long, silences that would stretch and swell when he entered rooms. 

Loki was used to being talked about—used to standing out no matter where he found himself. It was an uncomfortable truth he had forced himself to come to terms with long ago. Most of the time he just wasn’t likeable, not in that effortless, charismatic way. He could be, certainly. He could be lots of different things if he really put his mind to it, but just Loki? Nobody had ever been willing to stay once they’d garnered whatever they wanted from him: a good fuck, maybe; something to show off at an event. It was, quite frankly, tiring, and something he was growing increasingly bored of. 

Though, he supposed the entire situation was rather his own fault. He had possessed no former information on Thor, nothing that even alluded to him being interested in men. And Miss Foster was…well, beautiful, for lack of a better word. Loki had lost count of the times men had lingered at her desk or asked after her. It was only logical that somebody such as Thor himself would be interested in a worthy partner—both in intellect and looks. 

While Loki knew himself to be attractive, it was in a quieter, muted way. More silver moonlight than blinding light. It would look foolish for somebody of his stature to stand next to a presence as great as Thor’s, like standing in the shadow of the sun. If he had even once entertained the notion that Thor would want something…more with him, that had been crushed rather efficiently under the weight of Clint’s words. It was fine. He was fine. Truly.

So, when the bloom of flowers appeared on his desk he had half a mind to throw them straight into the bin, or perhaps out the nearest window. He did neither, just simply watched them for a moment. He ran careful fingers across the wash of colours, green stems and yellow petals, tied with golden binding that caught the evening light spilling in from the glass panes. 

He hadn’t been absent from his desk long. The nearest coffee machine was just a corridor away. Even as bland and watery as it was, he hadn’t yet gathered the fortitude to return to Asgard’s Coffee House. He wasn’t entirely sure he wished to hear more about Thor’s…interest in Miss Foster. Once had been more than enough.

There was, therefore, little possibility of somebody being able to reach his desk and leave before he returned. This was an inside job then. 

He turned and noticed a card, inky black and clipped carefully on to the side of the plastic wrap. It was blank, save for a single, messily drawn smiley face. Its lopsided smile contrasted against the black — drawn in white pen — and Loki stared at it, desperately attempting to untie the knotted mass of emotions rising in his chest. 

He knew who they were from. How couldn’t he? He knew and that knowledge was painful. It hurt in a way that set his teeth on edge, flayed at his skin with an unbearable intensity until his nerves were alight. It had been made abundantly clear that he was not Thor’s point of interest.

He entertained the notion of the flowers reaching the wrong person. But Miss Foster’s desk was several floors below his one, and indeed on the other side of the building entirely. No, then, these were meant for him. 

As an apology? Out of pity?

“Hey, boss, Stark’s given us—“ Darcy stopped just inside the doorway, grinning. “Flowers? Somebody sent  _ you _ flowers?” 

Loki blinked and snatched his hand away from the petals, curling his fingers into his palm. So, Darcy wasn’t involved in this. Which left—

“Close the door, Darcy. Half of the goddamn office is already observing me with an intensity that’s bordering on worrying. I really don’t wish to fuel that further.”

The door shut with a quiet click.

“Are they from you know who—“

“No. Yes. I don’t know. It is of little consequence either way.”

Darcy gaped at him, frowning. “But I thought you...“

“What?” Loki snapped and felt the smallest stirrings of guilt at the way she flinched.

“You know…liked him. Isn’t this a good thing?”

Loki laughed, more to give his mouth something to do than out of any amusement. He was growing increasingly worried that it would do something stupid, like cry.

“Traditionally, Miss Lewis, that is only considered a ‘good thing’ when that feeling is mutual. There’s been a mistake.”

“A mistake?” Darcy asked, incredulous. “Loki, the guy sent you flowers to your desk. Flowers for God’s sake! I don’t know how that isn’t ‘mutual’.”

“I do not wish to discuss this. Leave me.” 

“Loki—“

“Now. And take them with you,” he gestured towards the flowers with an air of finality. 

Darcy held his gaze defiantly and Loki clenched his jaw, ignored the plume of yellow in his peripheral vision, a swirling mass of gold and green. 

“What happened, Loki?”

“Nothing that’s any of your business,” Loki sniffed and a flash of hurt passed across her face. Loki held her gaze evenly.

“Wow, okay. No need to be a jerk, boss. Sorry for giving a shit.” She walked forward jerkily and snatched up the flowers, plastic wrap crinkling loudly in the silence. A motorbike sped past below. 

“Stark wants you to review these by tomorrow. I would offer to help, but you’ve made it very clear that’s not something you want.” She dropped a stack of papers onto his desk. The thud was loud in the stillness of the room and Loki winced. 

From the sheer size of the pile, he wouldn’t be leaving the office tonight. Darcy’s form retreated from his office, the sharp click of her shoes carrying down the corridor. He could call her back. Apologise and ask her to aid him. But pride clung to his tongue, weighed it down until it remained immobile in his mouth. 

Heavy and silent.

Oppressive.

A single petal lay on the dark wood of his desk, curling in on itself, crinkling around the edges. He stared at it until it started to blur, a heat burning in his eyes. 

He shuddered around an exhale and the silence whispered it back to him.

\--

The hours ticked by, slow and lazy, measured only by the ebb and flow of traffic from below. Rush hour came and went, and the rumble of engines and drones of car horns faded into long stretches of silence.

He spared a thought for his car in the garage below, the keys in the pocket of his slacks. He wanted nothing more than to end the travesty of this week with a glass of wine in the privacy of his home. It seemed he couldn’t even be granted that small luxury. 

But, he supposed, with any luck this was the last late night he would have to complete. At least for a while. Pepper’s return had, unsurprisingly, streamlined the whole ordeal. Stark’s company always did run smoother with her at its head. The work in front of him was formality and leftover damage control. It was just busy work, to stop wandering minds and stress about Hammer down to a minimum.

Regardless, it was still menial — taxing enough to become frustrating, easy enough that it failed to keep his mind off of other matters. 

More than once, he caught his memory lingering outside closed doors, ones he had bolted shut long ago. He’d sign his name and see nothing but Thor’s hands, the curve of his knuckles. He had split his lip with his own teeth then, the wound bleeding sluggishly as he probed it with his tongue. 

Later, when his eyes had closed, fatigue clinging heavily to his limbs, for a moment he had heard Thor’s laugh, felt the warmth of his hand. When he had jolted awake it was to the sound of his pen tearing through the page, a dark streak in its wake. 

He did what he could to repair it, to make his signature still legible but the ache in his chest became more difficult to ignore the more he stared at it. It was a painful and physical reminder that he hadn’t seen Thor’s face in almost two weeks. 

It hurt more than he thought it would—a knife wound of something aching, something slick and sharp.

A quiet knocking broke him from his thoughts and the weight on his chest melted back into the crevices of his ribs, tucked itself away into the shadows, waiting. He swallowed and looked up from the page.

In all honesty, he had expected Darcy to have left by now. She had no reason to linger after hours, especially not in the wake of how they had left things. But she stood there regardless, fidgeting nervously with a coffee cup, fingers picking at the cardboard sleeve.

He motioned her inside. 

“I uh— I figured you could use a boost.” She set the coffee on his desk.

His throat constricted when he recognised the brand. “Darcy—“

“Thor didn’t make it. If that’s what you’re worried about. Just— Just take the damn coffee and let me help you. You’ve been at this for six hours.” 

He spared a glance across the room at the clock, gaze lingering on the night sky outside the window. At least it had stopped raining at some point. “It’s my job.”

“Yeah, and it’s mine to help you. So let me.”

He thought about turning her away and ordering her home. Then again, she was stubborn enough to wait the night out outside his office, just to spite him in the morning. He wondered whether Stark had assigned her to him for a reason. He could, after all, distinctly remember doing something startling similar when Stark had first employed him. Perhaps it was revenge after all.

“Fine,” he conceded, “but don’t blame me when you’re tired tomorrow.”

She flashed him a smile and pulled up a chair, nudging the coffee towards him with the end of her pen. He waited until he’d signed the page before curling his fingers around it, noting nothing but an expanse of clean blue card under his fingers—no scrawled handwriting or childish doodles. It was definitely not Thor then. It tasted different, too, lightly bitter, stronger. He tightened his grip, fought back the spreading ache in his throat.

“I didn’t realise they stayed open this late.” 

Darcy looked up from her work, a smudge of red ink at her mouth from her pen. “Not many people do. Bucky—“

“The co-owner?”

“Yeah. It was his idea. You know how he and Steve are vets? He struggled when they first came back. PTSD, stuff like that. Never had a place where he could go at night if he didn’t wanna stay home. So, when he and Steve opened up the shop he just kinda…kept it open late. There’s no strict timing or anything. Just when he can’t sleep or can spare a few hours. I dunno. I think it just gives him something to do. And hey, business is business.”

Loki sipped at his drink. “And you know all this because…?”

Darcy looked at him for a moment, scrutinising. “You really don’t know how to talk to people, do you?”

Loki scoffed. “And what is it you think we’re doing right now?”

“Not like this. You don’t know how to talk about stuff that actually matters. I know all that stuff about Bucky because I asked. And sometimes he’d tell me shit and sometimes he wouldn’t.”

She paused and Loki broke from her gaze, realising uncomfortably where exactly this conversation was going.

“Like, right now, I know you’re upset. But you won’t tell me why. Or about what. Though I can make a pretty good guess.”

An insult rose to the tip of his tongue and he tried it on silently before swallowing it down. “I suppose I do not. I’m…unaccustomed to such company where I am able to do so.”

“Just try?” 

He swallowed thickly, wetting his lips. “I do not believe Thor is as, ah, interested in me as everybody believes.”

Darcy waited. Loki knew she would wait however long it took for him to continue. Somehow that made it worse. “He appears to be rather…preoccupied with Miss Foster.” 

Darcy stilled, laughing, and Loki scowled, dragging his pen across the paper below him with enough force to tear another small hole in it. 

“No, no Loki I’m not. Ah, hell. I’m not laughing at you. It’s just, Thor and Jane? Really?”

“I fail to see what’s so amusing.” 

“I mean, yeah, they dated a few months back. Briefly. Like, we’re talking three, maybe four dates, here. Then, they just broke it off. Mutually.”

“Yes, well, clearly it wasn’t as mutual as you’ve been led to believe,” Loki huffed.

“Look, I’m telling you this because for somebody so intelligent you can be unbelievably dumb. Thor is like, crazy into you.”

“That doesn’t mean—“

“—Clint says he’s sorry. I don’t know what about but he asked me to tell you. If he offended you or whatever. Thor just looks sad, mostly. Bucky said he even got Steve to drop off some flowers at your office. I figure it was Stark who put them on your desk.” She stopped for a moment and Loki glanced towards her, wondering for a moment whether she had keeled over and died. Regrettably, she continued to breathe. “Actually, thinking about it, God knows what rumours that’s going to start.”

He snorted, inelegant but amused, and Darcy smiled. “I assumed you knew about my scandalous affair with our boss.”

“That was you?” Darcy gasped and Loki kicked her shin with the toe of his shoe. He paused, running his fingers across the pleated cardboard of the coffee cup, thinking.

“There is a small chance that I misread the situation—” he admitted and Darcy grinned.

“See? I knew you’d—“

“—But, if nothing else it has forced me to evaluate how well suited Thor and I would be for one another.”

Her face fell. “Loki, please. For once in your life, stop overthinking everything. You like him. He likes you.” The exasperation in her words was evident. 

Loki swallowed. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is! Look, at least talk to him, okay? In person.”

“I cannot—“

“What are you so afraid of?”

He paused and focused on the pages beneath him. He stared until the words bled together, swam out of shape, and coalesced into something else entirely. Darcy placing a gentle hand on his shoulder made him speak.“You will think it foolish.”

“Try me.”

He gathered what courage he could, folded it end to end until he could place it in his palm, and slip it under his tongue. “I have never dated anybody.”

The hand on his shoulder turned heavy with the words. Darcy was momentarily stunned and, if it were at any other time, Loki would have found rendering her speechless more than a little amusing. But it wasn’t, so he didn’t. 

Instead he waited, nervously, for her words to form. 

“Never? But what about that guy from HR?”

Loki smiled wryly.

“He thought me attractive and wished to spend the night. He didn’t want anything further.”

“Okay, so, he was a bit of an arsehole. But there was that guy, what’s his name,” she paused, snapping her fingers. Loki tried not to flinch in irritation. “Liam! The lawyer you met that time in the lobby. I know he gave you his number.”

“He did, but I later realised he had wanted a date for an event and said I would ‘look the part.’ Shall we continue?”

Darcy blinked at him. “I— you’ve never…?”

“No. I have not. I told you it was foolish.”

“Loki that’s not—“

“Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I fear I’m rather tired of talking for tonight, and I would very much like to return home before dawn breaks.” 

The rustle of papers in his hand punctuated the silence and Darcy nodded. Her hand remained on his shoulder regardless and she shifted, wrapping her arm more solidly around him.

If it were any other time he would have shrugged her off—perhaps glared at her until she retreated of her own accord. But he was tired, and the warmth from her arm eased the tension bunching at his neck, the tightening in his throat. 

He closed his eyes and leaned into the touch for a moment, two, sighing when her fingers toyed with a strand of his hair absentmindedly.

“I’m sorry I didn’t help you sooner,” she said and Loki reluctantly opened his eyes, blinked away the fatigue that had tugged them down. 

“I believe that was entirely my own fault.”

She smiled. “Maybe, but you’re exhausted. I should’ve—“

“Let’s just focus on finishing what we have in front of us now. If we’re to place blame on anybody, I say we place it solidly on Hammer.”

Her laugh echoed around the room, childishly loud. She settled a moment later, the rhythmic sound of her pen against the paper starting once again.

In truth, Loki had no notion of what he was supposed to feel like after such a conversation. But calling the words into existence had left an unpleasant taste in his mouth, bitter at the back of his throat. 

He glanced across the desk to the coffee cup and found himself, irrationally, stupidly wanting to see nothing more than Thor’s handwriting.

\-- 

All hopes of getting home before dawn left when Stark barged into Loki’s office looking every bit as sleepless and stressed as the rest of them, Loki hadn’t the heart to send him away. So he joined them, sat at the desk that was quickly becoming far too crowded and worked in polite, easy conversation until the sky began to lighten into sprawling hues of pink and orange.

When Stark suggested that they get coffee, suspicion settled thickly at the bottom of Loki’s stomach. The tired, hazy feeling that had settled over his limbs was replaced with something sharp and restless. 

While Loki may be considered many things by many different people, slow had never been among them. He could recognise the set-up for what it was, at least partially. The want for coffee was no doubt genuine, but the gleam in Stark’s eye set his teeth on edge. It was something knowing and smug, a look that shared only the barest hint of information Loki wasn’t privy to.

The lack lodged in his throat, tinged with a vague sense of betrayal. 

He had little idea of how he found himself sitting at a table in the far corner of Asgard’s Coffee House. His resolve had crumbled at around the same time Darcy had awoken, bleary-eyed and hopeful at the offer of caffeine. 

He could have said no and told them to go without him. But Stark had produced another list of issues, names to run, articles to review. That and the prospect of seeing Thor once more was too appealing to deny. He supposed he always had been masochistic in that way. He revelled in the bite of the blade as much as he enjoyed plunging it into another. There was no difference in this latest venture. 

Unsurprisingly, Thor had been nowhere in sight when they had entered. Bucky had taken their orders easily, written them neatly on a notepad. It was such a far cry from Thor’s brash, chaotic methods that Loki was unable to follow the motions after giving his order. 

Stark would pay for them regardless. It was the least he could do. 

“I hate to give you anything more to work on, but Pepper asked if you’d go through some of the finances? But, I did bring coffee. So it evens out, right?”

Loki arched a brow and took the mug wordlessly.

“Apparently you used to do accounting. Which, first of all, that’s a hell of a change, and secondly, how didn’t I know that?”

“You never asked. And don’t you have an entire department for finance management?”

Stark winced. “Yeah. But Pepper doesn’t wanna risk any further leaks at the moment. She’s cut back all the personnel that have access to ah, more restricted files? Yeah, let’s go with that. So, we’re running short on qualified and trusted staff.”

Loki waved his hand and gestured to his laptop. “Send it my way. I’ll look it over when I can.” 

“Thank you. Darcy and I are at the next table if you need us. We figured you’d want some space to think.”

Perhaps Pepper had been wrong in her assessment of Stark, Loki mused. It seemed he wasn’t completely incompetent at reading people after all. 

\--

The remnants of his coffee had long since gone cold when he looked up. It was lighter than it was before, sunlight spilling languidly in from the windows and across the hardwood floors. Loki blinked and wondered exactly how long he’d spent on the numbers—longer than he had anticipated, clearly. 

Darcy had, as expected, fallen back asleep, her cheek pressing creases into the paper below it. What  _ was _ surprising was that Stark had managed to do the same thing. His back was bowed and his head was resting against his arms. A jacket was draped across his shoulders, hanging loosely down his torso and Loki recognised it as the same one Bucky had been wearing earlier.

Well, then. Wasn’t Stark just  _ full _ of surprises?

A shadow fell across the table and Loki stilled instinctively. He didn’t need to look up to know who it was. The cologne was familiar enough, as was the flash of golden hair in his peripheral vision. He closed the lid of his laptop slowly, giving himself another moment to gather what courage he was able. 

“I thought you could use a refill.” Loki looked up and met Thor’s gaze, watched his eyes flick away and back again, fingers toying with the handle on the mug. “It’s uh— Steve says it’s on the house.”

“Thank you,” Loki replied, taking the mug from Thor’s hand. Their fingers brushed, the briefest moment of contact, but Loki jolted all the same. There were no sparks, he hadn’t grown quite that dramatic, but feeling the heat from Thor’s hand after two weeks without was a greater comfort than he could have imagined. 

“May I sit?” Thor asked and Loki considered the merits of refusing him. He nudged the chair with his foot in invitation. Thor sank into it hesitantly, folding and unfolding his hands as the silence stretched between them, tense and thick. 

Loki sipped at the coffee and held Thor’s gaze. It was gratifying, the way his cheeks warmed, a delicate, gentle flush trailing across them. Thor coughed.

“Did Tony give you the uh…” 

Loki took pity on him. “The flowers?”

“Yeah.”

“Yes, he did. Although as Darcy pointed out, I’m loathe to think of what rumours  _ that _ may start. A sordid affair, perhaps? And I really am in no mood to fight off two ex-soldiers.”

Thor gaped at him, breathless around a laugh. “Two?” He asked.

Loki smirked, pointed with his pen towards Stark’s sleeping form. “That is Bucky’s jacket, is it not?” 

Thor grinned. “God, Clint will never let them hear the end of it. He’ll be insufferable to work with after—“ Thor’s smile wilted. 

Loki’s chest ached. “I believe I owe you an apology,” he started.

Thor’s eyes met his, confused. “I think that’s my line.”

“No, please. Allow me. I may have drawn conclusions rather hastily. And not given you the chance to explain them.” 

“Will you give me one now?”

“Yes.” 

Thor shifted and reached across the table.  _ Oh _ . Thor’s hand had been warm when he had brushed it earlier, but to have it draped across his own was almost stifling—a large, heavy weight. There was a hesitancy on his face, tentative, and Loki realised that he was giving him a chance to retreat, to pull away from the contact. When he didn’t Thor’s touch relaxed, emboldened. 

He wondered how it would feel to turn his hand, to thread his fingers between Thor’s own. Thor spoke before he could entertain the notion further.

“Clint has a bad habit of talking faster than he can think. While Jane and I were at one point, —  _ involved _ — it was never serious, and nothing came of it besides from a few dates.”

“Darcy informed me.” 

Thor cleared his throat and looked away, fingers twitching on top of Loki’s hand. He was worried, suddenly, that he might withdraw. 

“She did?” 

Loki hummed. "Last night." 

Thor looked back and met his eyes, held his gaze steady. His hand felt heavier on top of Loki’s; a warm, grounding weight. He looked at Loki earnestly, the small downward tug of his mouth the only outward sign of nervousness—a small, almost indiscernible chip in the armour of his confidence. “Would you allow me to take you to dinner?”

Loki had been expecting the words. Truly, he had. Paired with the warmth across Thor’s cheek and the look in his eye, it was the only way the conversation could have gone. The question still startled something within him, something long since buried and locked away. And Thor had just cracked open the lid. 

“I—Thor, I—“ The words wouldn’t come. There was a ‘yes’ resting on the tip of his tongue, a ‘no’ lodged in his throat. He was caught midway between, fighting futilely against the rising fear and timid hope. 

Thor’s face fell and Loki felt as if he could scream, smash his coffee mug against the brick and watch it shatter. 

“Right. Sorry I didn’t—I just thought—“ Thor’s hand left his in a rush of cold air.

Loki reached, curled his fingers tightly around his wrist before it could retreat fully, solid and  _ warm _ and why couldn’t he just say— “Don’t. Stay a moment, please.” 

“Loki, if you’re not interested then it’s—“

“I am, Thor. Interested, that is. Just—“

“Not enough to give it a chance?” Thor finished and Loki blinked at him, startled. Thor’s smile turned brittle and Loki felt something in his chest splinter, a spreading cold ache. Thor’s pulse raced under his grip.

“That’s not fair.”

“No? Then say ‘yes’, Loki. Tell me you want this.”

He did. Gods, he did. He wanted it so badly the want was almost tangible, a bright burning orb of knotted warmth, of a heat so blinding he could barely stand to think of it. 

“I—“ His mouth moved,trying to form the words his tongue could not give a voice to, mute and desperate. Thor’s gaze on his face made heat prickle behind his eyes, throat constricting around nothing but what he couldn’t say.

Because he wanted this. He wanted this more than anything he could remember. He wanted it but it wasn’t for  _ him _ —not something as bright and unbroken as Thor, not something so  _ precious _ and whole. Merely being in his presence was like standing in the path of the sun and Loki had outgrown the days he’d spent as a shadow. 

“I see,” Thor said, pulling his wrist free of Loki’s fingers. 

_ No, _ Loki thought hysterically,  _ you do not. _

\--

In hindsight, getting drunk hadn’t been a good idea, neither had the body sleeping next to him. But, all rational thought had left his mind at around the same time Thor had walked away, shoulders slumped under an invisible weight. Loki had to leave, to get out and away and  _ go _ . So, he had. 

He hadn’t run like that since he was fourteen, when he had bounced around from foster home to foster home until they decided he was more trouble than he was worth. It had been easier, alone. Much easier. He could hear himself think, free from the ties that bound his wrists, the shackles of normalcy and forced appearances. 

He felt smaller than he had in years, drowning in a bed that was far too big, even with the body pressed against his side. Loki hadn’t caught a name, but the shock of golden hair against tanned skin was enough to cause an ache in his chest rivalled only by the tugging in his groin. The similarities ended there and the longer he stared, the faster his pulse grew, a stilted drum in his chest. 

While Thor was big he was always  _ gentle _ , annoyingly so. The stranger’s eyes were set, lips curved into a perpetual smirk that bordered on cruel, even asleep. Loki could feel the bruises forming on his hips, branded from fingers that had grabbed too hard, pushed too far. His neck ached around a bite mark and his fingers came away pink when he pressed them over the area, felt the grazed skin split slightly at the edges. 

He should leave. Gods, he should. He had work tomorrow — a meeting at nine. He never had been one to linger after one night stands, especially when he wasn’t even in his own apartment. But the body beside him was warm and strong, and it would be easy to pretend, too easy. If he curled away and tucked his face into the pillow, ignored the pain in his hips and thighs and neck then he could pretend that this body was the one he wanted—the right one with the right warmth and voice and face. He could pretend that Thor had understood the words he couldn’t say; that he hadn’t lost one of the best things he had found in recent years. 

So, he did. The stranger’s arms were lax and Loki shifted between them easily enough, settled against a firm, broad chest and counted out the heartbeats beneath his ear. He blinked into the darkness as he passed the night in sleepless minutes.

The coffee was bitter the next morning, burnt. He choked it down regardless, smiled at the man and politely declined his offer to exchange numbers. In the honeyed light of dawn, Loki realised that the stranger’s eyes weren’t even blue.

\-- 

“Is that a hickey?” Darcy asked the second he was through his office door, her voice ringing far too loudly in the wake of last night. 

Loki winced, fighting off the pounding in his head. “How many times, Darcy? Inside voices,  _ please _ .”

“You totally got laid, didn’t you?” Loki didn’t answer. A primitive glee dawned in her eyes. “Oh my God! Did you finally sleep with—“

“No,” Loki snapped, cutting her sentence short. “I did not.”

“Really?” She asked, teasing. “Because both you and him were suspiciously absent when—“

“You and Stark awoke to actually finish the work? Yes, thank you for the most considerate contribution of your time.”

“Hey! That’s not what—“ She paused and Loki closed his eyes, steepled his fingers to his nose. “Nope. Not gonna work. You’re tryna change the subject.”

“I really am not in the mood for one of our ‘talks’ right now, Darcy. I’ll find you should the desire strike.” 

She held up her hands, eyes lingering on his neck with a grin before walking out the door. The silence was blissful in the wake of her voice. The pounding in his head abated to a dull rumble, like a warning of some far-off thunder. 

—

Loki’s luck, it would seem, had run dry. 

When Stark entered his office his eyes, as Darcy’s had been, were drawn immediately to the mark on his neck. He had thought several times about returning home and changing, or perhaps borrowing a scarf from somebody. But in the end, he failed to see the good it would do. People would talk whether he wanted them to or not. He might as well give them something worth talking about.

“Is that a—“

“Yes.”

Stark nodded. “Right. I uh, good for you?” His eyes remained fixed on the mark and really, this was getting ridiculous.

“Is it that difficult to believe that I can, in fact, find somebody willing to spend the night with me?”

Stark blinked, taken aback. “No! That’s not what I—“

“Just because Thor doesn’t seem to understand what I—“

“Who said anything about Thor?” Stark asked and Loki paused mid-sentence, mouth slowly closing. Ah, well then. 

Stark’s eyes glittered and Loki clenched his jaw, fingers curling around the wood of his desk. “I assume you didn’t march in here to discuss how I spend my personal time?”

Stark’s eyes narrowed and Loki made a point of meeting them calmly. The further he argued the point, the further Stark would do the same. He could only hope that he could be goaded into changing the subjecting. 

It seemed that perhaps some of his luck had yet to be used.

“Pepper’s throwing a party—sorry,” he corrected, “a  _ celebration. _ Says it’ll convince Hammer that he’s got nothing on us. Not that he does, of course, but we all know how long he can draw something out.”

Loki spared a thought at the last scandal Hammer had dragged them into. It had taken the better part of a year for that one to go away. Loki wasn’t certain he could endure something like that without removing Hammer from the earth entirely, and his patience wasn’t what it used to be.

“I assume attendance is mandatory?”

Stark smiled, tight, and Loki got the message.  _ Unless you want to go through Pepper. _ And Loki really, really did not. 

“When?” He asked instead, busying his hands with brushing imaginary dust from his desk to hide the way they shook. Gods, he was  _ tired _ . 

“Tomorrow evening. Seven p.m. It’s nothing fancy, just at the bar down the road. Pepper knows the owner.”

Loki hummed, dropping his gaze from Stark to the screen in front of him and mentally sifting through the flood of emails. 

“Just a heads up,” Stark continued and Loki’s hand hovered over the mouse. “Pepper invited Steve. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of his staff tagged along.”

He clicked on an email with more force than necessary. Wonderful, that was just what he needed to bring this week to a close. Stark lingered and Loki looked up, catching the tail-end of a grimace across his face.

Wasn’t that interesting? He raised a brow in question. “I had thought you’d be happy that Pepper asked your boyfriend to come.” It was worth prolonging the conversation to watch Stark’s face contort, stuttering defensively.

“He’s not my—we’re not—“

“Oh, of course. I apologise. I suppose it would be awfully awkward to date Mr. Rogers while harbouring a rather obvious crush on his best friend, would it not?”

Stark fell silent, his mouth parted. Loki smiled.

“How did you—nope, you know what? I don’t wanna know. Just—seven p.m. Don’t be late.” The  _ or Pepper will have you head _ went unsaid. 

Loki dragged a hand across his face the second Stark left the room. He could only hope that Thor wouldn’t attend. He had no reason to. Not after how they —  _ he _ — had left things, unless, of course, he was as masochistic as Loki was. Or was it sadistic? Maybe he would attend just to watch Loki’s facade shatter. 

No. Thor wasn’t like that. Was he? Loki was struck once again by how little he knew about him. So much was based on pure speculation, or the barest glimpse from a distance. But the information he had gathered, that he had folded up neatly and slotted between the pages of his memory was that Thor was nothing but gentle. 

Still, Loki wondered if that side of his nature remained true even when he was angry—no, not angry. Hurt. Loki recalled the firm line of his mouth, the sharp, hardened blue of his eyes. He had never seen him so closed off, so…unreadable.

It wouldn’t matter. There was nothing Loki could do to change the situation. Not attending would be nothing short of unprofessional, and he had spent the best part of a decade carefully constructing this particular reputation. He wouldn’t let anyone — even someone like Thor — ruin that for him. He couldn’t.

He turned his attention back to his emails and did his best to ignore the tremor in his hands.

— 

It all fell to shit when Stark ordered shots. Loki might have made it through that evening relatively unscathed otherwise— a little bruised around the edges maybe, and clinging to the scraps of his wounded pride, but at least his principles would be intact. And Darcy wouldn’t have anything else to hold over his head. 

But, if he’s honest, the minute he had heard Thor’s voice what was left of his resolve had crumbled. It was a shame. On any other night, the bar would have been something he would have enjoyed—this one, at least. Stark, it would seem, had managed to pick an establishment that managed to toe the line between tranquility and class. It was large enough to not feel crowded — even with what felt like half of the company in attendance — and dark enough to give an air of privacy without feeling stifling. 

It had, for a fleeting half an hour, been enjoyable. Until Steve had shown up withThor and friends in tow, and Loki couldn’t down the drink in front of him fast enough. He wished he hadn’t a second later. Because Thor’s gaze just...slid right past him—uninterested, like Loki was nothing but a nameless face in a crowd, not worth even a cordial greeting. He hadn’t been expecting much — awkwardness, perhaps, anger, if Thor was so inclined. But, the polite indifference had cut deeper than any emotion Thor could’ve shown. 

He hadn’t made any attempt to participate in the conversation past that point. Whatever pleasure he had previously found, no matter how small, dissipated like a mirage. The voices washed over him until even Stark had loosened up—shed his blazer and tie. Wasn’t that a good idea? Loki’s own collar had begun to bite into his skin, the buttons pressing incessantly against his throat, feeling more like a chokehold with every swallow. He hadn’t accounted for the mark on his neck and Darcy, in her infinite inebriated wisdom, decided that anything with even a hint of colour warranted her finger prodding at it. Whether that colour was currently attached to his throat was, apparently, irrelevant. 

“Does it hurt?” She asked, jabbing it again harder and Loki resisted the urge to grab her finger and  _ twist. _

“Yes, dreadfully.” 

She pouted, in annoyance or sympathy he couldn’t tell. Whatever it was, it didn’t stop her finger from pressing at it. The brief conversation was, however, enough for an unnatural silence to fall over the table and when Loki turned his gaze from Darcy he found himself the centre of everybody’s attention—even Thor’s. For the first time since his arrival he was looking at him, really looking, something glinting in his eyes. But, this wasn’t the attention he wanted, not from Thor. Not the vague look of something dark, something that could just as easily be disapproval as it was frustration. Perhaps Thor thought him a whore, or something equally derogative. Perhaps he was already counting his blessings at leaving when he did, shutting Loki down before he had a chance to explain. 

He swallowed and forced a brow to raise with more confidence than he felt, letting a brittle, hollow echo of a mask of boredom slip into place. It did not matter that Thor’s gaze was all but a physical weight on him, the ticking of his jaw shadowed in the light. It did not matter because he did not matter—not to Thor, not like  _ that _ . 

“Am I really that interesting?” He drawled, twirling his empty glass around, just to give his hands something to do. He needed something to hide the way that they threatened to shake. 

“Yes. But not because of—“ Stark gestured clumsily to Loki’s throat. When Loki offered no answer he cleared his throat, threw up a hand and waved down an employee, or at least someone who looked enough like one. Either way, they ended up with a tray full of shots a minute later and Loki’s fingers couldn’t grab them fast enough. 

Which had, perhaps, been a mistake. The world slowly began to lose focus and Darcy decided that his hair made a very good place indeed to rest her hands, fingers tangling into the strands. His eyes closed against his will and he slipped hesitantly into a haze of something soft. The sharp, ragged edge of his anger earlier, his hurt, smoothed away, at least partially. 

Gods, it must be late. His vision spun when he opened his eyes, lingered on Thor, on the tight lines of his shirt, on the curve of his jaw. He wanted to reach out, reach across the table, across the booth, and settle a hand on Thor’s arm, rest his head on the expanse of Thor’s chest. But, Thor’s gaze was focused elsewhere and Loki followed it across the room and—

Oh. That was— It  _ wasn’t _ Miss Foster — Even inebriated Loki knew that — but it looked  _ like _ her—slim, elegant, brunette and delicate, and composed. He couldn’t see her, not really. He couldn’t even see who she was talking to beyond the basics — a tall man, lithe, with dark hair that brushed against his nape. Thor’s gaze was  _ longing _ and Loki couldn’t bear it.

He stood and caught himself on the edge of the table when his knees threatened to buckle. 

“Where’re you going?” Darcy asked.

Loki blinked, gathered the words to his tongue. He forced his brain away from the soft haze it had found itself in. “Out. I require some air.” 

“Someone can come with you,” Steve offered. Loki shook his head. 

“No, thank you. I will be fine alone.” 

Distantly he heard Darcy protest, and Stark call his name. Thor’s voice remained silent, unconcerned, and Loki curled his fingers into his palm. He was halfway across the floor when somebody grabbed his arm, stilling him in place. 

“Let me get you a drink,” they asked and Loki turned to take in the stranger standing beside him — tall and blonde. He might have said yes if it were any night other than tonight. A part of him was still tempted to do so, to see if Thor’s gaze would linger on  _ him _ instead of the woman. 

“No, thank you.” 

The stranger held his arm fast, fingers keeping him in place. “Well, that’s too bad. I was kinda hoping you’d like to spend some time together.” The stranger’s hand, the one that wasn’t on his arm, came to rest at his waist, tried for a moment to wriggle under the fabric before giving up. 

Loki idly wondered when he’d shed his blazer. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to disappoint. I really must be going.”

“Don’t be like that.” He leaned closer, moved his hand from Loki’s arm to his face, turned his chin with a finger and thumb.

Loki weighed the balance of biting him. He could punch him. He carefully considered it as the hand on his waist dropped to his thigh, inching closer to the apex of his legs—one blow to the nose, another to the jaw, a third to the eye. Instead, he reached down and gripped at the man’s fingers until something gave with a pop he felt more than heard. 

The touch disappeared, only for a hand to appear a moment later out the corner of his eye. Loki knew he wouldn’t have enough time to move, to catch it before it connected. 

The blow never came, but Thor’s voice did. It was low and threatening in a way that Loki didn’t need to hear what was being said in order to infer the meaning behind it. The man left as quickly he had arrived, just another shadow at the edges of the room. 

“Are you alright?” Thor asked.

Loki noted the concern in his voice. He bit his lip to keep from laughing, something heady and hysterical threatening to rise in his throat.  _ No. _ He wanted to say.  _ I am not. _

He didn’t. He straightened his shirt, smoothed the creases from where the man had grabbed him and brushed an echo of a touch from his thigh.

Thor’s hand was a welcome weight and Loki cursed how easily, how readily, he allowed himself to sink into it. All he wanted to do was sink into Thor’s arms, and rest his head against his shoulder. 

“He will not bother you again. I’ll make sure of it.”

Loki bristled, turned with less control than he usually would. He blamed the drink. He blamed Thor. “I do not need  _ you _ ,” he sneered, and jabbed a finger into the hard muscle of Thor’s chest, “to ‘make sure’ of anything.”

Thor’s mouth parted, in surprise or irritation Loki didn’t know. He didn’t wait to find out.

“I am perfectly capable of handling things myself. I don’t need you to fight my battles, Thor. I am not a child.”

“I never said you were, I only saw that you were uncomfortable and—“

“So now you  _ see _ , do you?” Loki asked.

Thor blinked, frowning. “I— I don’t follow.”

“Before,” Loki clarified and Thor’s frown deepened, “it didn’t matter what I did not say. The only thing that mattered to you was that I didn’t say what  _ you _ wanted to hear.”

“Loki…” Thor murmured, voice so low Loki had to strain to hear him. He swallowed and made a point of not looking as Thor linked their fingers. He didn’t need to see the way they slotted together, Thor’s hand engulfing his own. “I’ll admit that I was hurt. I acted rashly. I had thought you reciprocated my feelings.”

“I do,” Loki whispered and that was not what he meant to say. His tongue disobeyed him, flitting around his mouth in loose, quick movements. “I do.” 

“Let me take you home.” 

From anybody else it would have been a proposition. But Thor said it so earnestly that Loki couldn’t infer any other meaning from the words except the face-value. He should have laughed, perhaps told Thor to fuck off. He didn’t. He only sighed tiredly and felt the tension drain from his shoulders under Thor’s large hands, no matter how he fought to keep it there. 

“The event isn’t over yet. I have a job to do.” It was, however, becoming increasingly difficult to remember exactly what that was. Networking, Pepper had said, keeping up appearances, and getting people talking.

Well, this certainly was one way to achieve that.

“Let me speak to Pepper,” Thor replied and Loki tensed. “With your permission,” he added hastily, holding Loki firm before he could flee.

“I think I can manage speaking with my own boss,” Loki muttered drily and caught the tail end of Thor’s laugh before the other sounds whisked it away. 

“Perhaps I should accompany you. Just in case.”

“That won’t be necessary.” 

It was, apparently. Thor caught his arm before he could fall and Loki felt rather than heard his huff of amusement. “How much have you had to drink, Loki?” He asked, soft and amused.

Loki’s heart stuttered in his chest. “More than is apparently advisable. I blame you.” 

“Oh?” 

“You ignored me. Didn’t even say hello. Like I wasn’t— Like I wasn’t there.” He should stop talking. Now. He should shut his mouth and keep it closed. He could count the colours on the walls or the lights in the ceiling, do  _ anything _ with his mind that wasn’t  _ speaking _ . 

Thor slowed, his smile wilting to a frown. “Loki, I—“ 

For  _ once _ in her life, Darcy’s timing was impeccable. She caught his eye and grinned, something feral and infinitely delighted. Loki wasn’t sure he could coordinate his movements enough to flip her off as elegantly as he would have liked so he settled for glaring at her instead.

“Hey!” She called, spilling some of the drink from her glass as she waved in a quick, aborted motion. “At least you’re taking home the right guy this time!” 

Thor’s fingers tightened for a moment and Loki basked in the brief flash of jealousy in Thor’s eyes. 

“You want me to tell Stark you’re heading out? Though it would be funny to watch you stumble over there.” 

“I still possess the higher functions required to fire you, Darcy.”

“—Sure you do, boss.”

“—But yes, thank you.”

“You’ve been taking home other guys?” Thor asked. 

Loki closed his eyes, and ran a hand clumsily down his face. “Yes, well, if they’re going to look so much like you then what else am I expected to do?”

He paused, and felt Thor’s chest rumble in a laugh. Fuck. “Wait. No. Forget I said that, I didn’t mean—“

“No no. You said it. I  _ heard _ you say it.”

“I need another drink,” he muttered. Thor led him towards the door with a hand on his back. The air was cold and he remembered his blazer slung over his chair. A different heat spread through him, curled around his fingers until he lifted them, and placed his palms flat against Thor’s face. 

Thor smiled at him and some small, decidedly less inebriated part of him knew he should drop his hands. He should turn away before he did something else he’d regret, like kissing him. 

Thor saved him the embarrassment. “Your hands are freezing, Loki. Have you never heard of gloves?” 

He blinked, or at least, he thought he had. But, when he opened his eyes his hands were cradled in Thor’s own and a jacket far too big for him was draped across his shoulders. A faint scent lingered on the fabric, something earthy, fresh like the air after a storm.

He should say something. Thank Thor for his aid and then leave, go home. Alone. Call a cab and—

Thor tugged him to his chest, all firm muscles and soft skin and Loki’s head fell silent. This was a bad idea—a very bad idea. He was just struggling to remember  _ why _ .

“It seems, we can’t have a successful conversation,” Thor said and Loki turned to press his brow to his shoulder.

“We are having one now, are we not?” Loki replied, words starting to slur together. He felt Thor smile against the crown of his head, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to his scalp.

“Yes, but it’s only a matter of time until I say something wrong.”

Loki sighed, reached on tiptoe to nose at Thor’s cheek, stubble scratching at his skin. “Then we will talk tomorrow. I’m not sure I would make a good conversation partner at the moment anyway.”

“No, perhaps not,” Thor agreed and Loki heard the stutter in his breath, the gentle tremor in his hands as they untangled from his. Was Thor leaving? Pushing him away? His hands returned, fingers tangled in his hair and there was something unbearably gentle in the motion; his fingertips pressing to his scalp as if it were precious, something immeasurably fragile, as if he alone could keep it safe. It should have angered him— that kind of gentle, soft treatment—but in the haze of the night it did nothing but drain the tension from his shoulders, sink him more fully into the warmth of Thor’s body.

He let his eyes slip close, cradled against the bulk of Thor’s body, kept close and safe and—

A car pulled up, the engine a low rumble. Thor shifted. He half-walked, half-carried Loki into the backseat. He was asleep the second his head rested on Thor’s shoulder.

— 

Loki’s head hurt — a dull throb behind his eyes and around his temples. For a moment there was nothing but silence and that murky half-darkness of light through closed eyelids. Then, the surface beneath him shifted, a slow, steady rhythm — a constant rising and falling. He hadn’t noticed the fingers in his hair before, but he noticed when they stopped moving.

“I can bring you some painkillers for your head?”

He had, in the midst of confusion and clinging sleep, failed to notice where exactly he was. Or rather who exactly was there with him. That the hand in his hair did, in fact, belong to someone. 

He swallowed. His throat was dry and rough. He wasn’t entirely sure he trusted it to speak — he nodded instead. He tried not to mourn the loss as Thor shifted, cradling Loki’s head gently as he eased himself out from underneath him.

When Thor’s footsteps had retreated somewhere out of the room, Loki opened his eyes, squinting against the sun. It was a bed then,  _ Thor’s _ bed. He had been in Thor’s bed, with Thor. He supposed after last night—

Oh  _ gods. _ Last night. He had hoped that those events had been nothing but a dream. At least in part. But the more he thought about it the more he recalled. Had he really spoken to Thor so openly? Gods, he had almost kissed him. He stood huddled against his chest like a child and—

“Here. I thought you’d prefer water, but I put some coffee on—“

“You took me back to your house.” It wasn’t a question. Loki didn’t know why he said it. Maybe he hoped to gain some insight, something factual that he could use to affirm what he’d already suspected. 

Thor blinked, confused at the interruption. “Yes. You fell asleep before I could get your address off of you. I wasn’t sure what else to do. I’m sorry if I—“

“No, no. It’s fine. I just…”  _ don’t remember _ . 

Loki took the tablets and drained the glass in four long gulps. “Thank you.” 

Thor nodded, hair glinting golden in the morning light. He was dressed already, in a loose shirt and jeans. For the first time since awakening, it crossed his mind that the suit he had been in last night was draped across the end of the bed, his shirt hanging on the door of the wardrobe across the room. Had he awoken long enough to take them off or—

Thor followed his gaze and cleared his throat. “I uh— I didn’t think you’d want it creased. Any of it. You were still asleep when I carried you up.“

_ Carried you up. _ Thor had  _ carried _ him? Something must have shown on his face. Thor smiled. Well, then, that certainly wasn’t embarrassing, or endearing.

The t-shirt he was wearing was one of Thor’s then. It was certainly far too big to be one of his own — a deep crimson red that draped in swathes from his shoulders. It skimmed the tops of his thighs when he stood.

Thor’s eyes shifted to rest on the hemline. He caught himself, and flushed a shade that almost matched the shirt. “Th—The coffee should have finished by now. I’ll uh — go and check.” 

Loki’s chest ached as he walked away, ducked out of the doorway and disappeared around the corridor. 

\--

“We should probably talk,” Thor said as soon as Loki entered the kitchen. 

Well. There was coffee at least. “Yes. That’s probably advisable.” 

Thor nodded and ran a hand through his hair. “About last night, or, no, about everything. We keep misunderstanding. Or not listening—“

“ _ You _ keep not listening.”

Thor smiled drily at him. “I see your sharp tongue has returned.” 

“Yes, well, clearly if you wish to have an…amicable conversation, I require a great deal more alcohol,” Loki snapped. 

Thor hung his head. “That isn’t what I meant.”

“No?”

“What do you want from me, Loki?” He asked suddenly, fingers wrapping around his mug. “You tell me just last night that you reciprocate my feelings, and now you’re acting as if you can’t stand me. I never know where I am with you. If you truly wish to have nothing further to do with me, then  _ tell me _ and I’ll leave you alone.” 

He would. Loki knew he would. If he said the words, Thor would let him leave, watch him walk out the front door, and stay out of his way. He would hold Loki in the same regard as he had last night, polite disinterest. The thought was a crushing weight on his chest.

“I want you to  _ listen _ to me.”

Thor met his gaze, held it steadily. His expression was so earnest, so open and unguarded that Loki’s heart stuttered. He found his words had suddenly run dry in the presence of Thor’s undivided attention. He took a moment to gather them.

“I am not who you think I am,” he settled on eventually.“I cannot give you what you want.”

“And what is it you think I want?” Thor asked, patient and even.

Loki looked away. He counted the drops from the coffee machine. “A partner. But you are— You are everything I am not. I refuse to be a shadow in my own relationship.”

“A shadow?”

“Yes. 

“I don’t understand.”

Loki sighed and clenched his jaw. “You might have anybody you wanted. It doesn’t make sense as to why you would settle for myself.”

“Settle?” Thor repeated, incredulous and Loki forced his eyes up, settled on the tension across Thor’s face. “I don’t want anybody else, Loki. I want you. Not as a—“ He paused, gestured in frustration with his hand, “as an inferior or a shadow. I want you. As an equal.”

“Yes, because you’ve treated me as such so far.” 

Thor’s face twisted, contorted into a wince. That was not what Loki had been expecting. He had expected anger and indignation. He had prided himself on knowing Thor’s reactions, at least partially. Then again, Thor always did have a way of surprising him.

“I deserved that.” 

Loki didn’t answer. 

Thor sighed. “I—I would like a chance to get to know you, if you’d let me. Properly.”

Loki held his tongue, swallowed down the myriad of retorts that sprung to mind. None of them were valid. They were good for nothing but a knife wound, a blow made only to hurt. He didn’t want to hurt Thor. Not like—Gods, not like that. 

“You stripped me and laid with me last night, Thor. I hardly think you do not know me.” 

Thor choked.. “I didn’t— not like—“ He stopped, took a moment to gather himself. “I took the sofa. I would never take advantage of you, Loki, especially not like that.” 

Loki hummed. So, Thor had not slept with him last night — even in the most innocent sense. Disappointment and relief washing through him in tandem. 

He had seen the sofa on the way to the kitchen, small and cramped and it was hard to picture a man of Thor’s stature on a sofa that size. He can’t imagine it would have been comfortable.

“You were there when I awoke.” 

“I came in to wake you. You uh— you grabbed my wrist and wouldn’t let me leave.” 

Ah. 

“You’re surprisingly strong even in your sleep.” 

Loki arched a brow and hid his embarrassment behind a smile. “I’ll take your word for it.”

He sipped at his coffee idly and ignored Thor’s gaze on him. He felt it dip from his face to his thighs and back again. Gods, this was a bad idea. 

“One.” he stated, setting his mug on the counter behind him. Thor frowned, a small furrow of his brow and Loki resolutely ignored the downward tilt of his mouth, the way his tongue darted across his lips. “One date.” 

Thor grinned, wide and bright. Loki was going to regret this—not an ‘if’ but a ‘when’. Still, Thor was here now, looking at him with an expression almost unbearably happy. He could have this. He could let himself have this, for now, at least. 

“Any preferences?” Thor asked, standing and walking towards where Loki was leaning against the counter.

“On dates? I suppose I’m somewhat partial to big, blonde idiots.” 

Thor laughed. He reached forward to clasp a hand around the back of Loki’s neck and brushed the underside of his jaw with his thumb. “So, being stunningly handsome isn’t of importance?”

“Well, it’s definitely a bonus. But I’m not sure I see anybody around here that fits that criteria.” 

“No?” Thor teased and trailed his fingers down Loki’s neck, smile growing when Loki shivered under his touch. “Then I guess you’ll just have to settle for me.” 

“Hm. It appears so.” 

The apartment was silent save for the distant drone of cars in the distance and a dripping tap from another room. Loki’s heartbeat was painfully loud in his ears, jumping under the pads of Thor’s fingers. 

Gods, Thor was close. He was so close that Loki could almost count each individual eyelash, golden brown against tanned skin, and the specks of grey in his blue eyes. He wet his lips and watched Thor’s eyes follow the movement. 

Thor’s hand moved to cup Loki’s cheek, trailed a thumb across the slant of his lips. “This ideal man of yours,” Thor asked, slowly. “What does he think of kissing before the first date?”

Loki met his eyes. He was light-headed with the warmth Thor was exuding—that careful, confident air that was as much a pretence as it was honest. 

“I suppose he’ll have to find out.”

  
  
  
  



End file.
